Für Elise
by slow'n'steady
Summary: Raoul writes a letter to his daughter, Elise, detailing the reality of her life. -oneshot-


**A.N - nothing you recognise is mine. Um. Enjoy! **

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><p><em>To my darling Elise,<em>

I have probably written you countless times over the years of your life but this is a letter that I regard as the most important you shall ever receive. I write this without your knowledge for as I look upon you now – you are barely eight years old. You are sat upon the grand piano in the hall (do you remember?) and scowling as your younger brothers attempt to obstruct your play. They are hindered though for they cannot reach yet. You are smiling yet I know you are pained inside. Eight years old, my darling – do you remember what happened today Elise?

Yes, it was your mother's funeral. Louis and Richard were too young to attend but I had chosen for you to accompany me. I am certain that you remember it, Elise for I had never seen you so sad. Of course I understood for I had been crying too but you had watched the procession wordless. It was when you came home that you spluttered into your bedroom sobbing. You were always the quiet type as a child, Elise and I am certain you had not changed over the years. You hated people seeing you cry and did not allow me to console you. You were always closer to your mother.

As I watch you now, grinning as Richard and Louis attempt to push you off your seat – I know that you shall be strong. But to recall memories of that sorrowed time was not why I had written this letter for you, Elise. I scribe this letter for a purpose – to tell you a story about your mother and I before you were born. A story we had never told anyone and a tale you need to know. Bear with me, Elise for this is important. Your mother would have never approved of me telling you but I know it is your right to know of it.

Do you remember when we told you that your mother used to work in the Opera Populaire? You were so curious for you had always wanted to know what it had been like in such a place. And I told you that I was the patron? Elise, it had been such a wondrous place and I am sure that you are a frequent visitor to the renovated opera house now. But we had never mentioned to you about your mother's Angel.

When your mother had been young she was taken to the Opera Populaire by Madame Giry (yes, it is her – you always found her so frightening as a child!). And there, when she had been mourning for her father, a voice told her that he was the _Angel of Music _sent by her father to tend for her in his absence. This was an Angel your mother spent years of her life with – and he took care of her and even trained her voice! Oh your mother's voice was flawless because of her Angel's practices. You told her so when she sang you lullabies, do you still remember?

But my love, this angel was not an angel but a man. He was a man of impeccable talent – yet he became overruled by need and lost his inhibitions. A lot of things occurred in the Opera Populaire, Elise but the most important thing was that in the end, your mother chose me over her Angel. It had been a horrible time and I could not remember very much of it but your mother pitied him so. This angel – this man meant so much to your mother. He had obsessed with her voice! Driven to madness by his passion for her! And so distressing things happened that I shall not recall for it lays in the wounds I closed years ago. But I never understood why your mother – she never expressed hate towards him. For in his ugliness, she saw his beauty.

We left the Populaire and I left Paris for a few months to travel to England to accompany my cousins on a visit. When I returned Elise, your mother and I married and a short few months after that, we had you! Oh, you were the most beautiful baby. You looked so much like your mother I had sobbed when I held you in my arms. But my love – you must understand that the moment I saw you, I knew that you were not mine.

Elise, I have raised you with love and as if you were my own blood. You will always be my daughter but you must know, my darling that you are not mine. You were never mine. When I see you, you resemble so much of Christine but you have none of my features. Look at your brothers Elise – look at Richard and Louis. You are different, my darling and it begins with your eyes. For they are his eyes, Elise. I knew the moment your mother held you that she realized it too. But she did not tell me in fear of what I would say.

I said nothing too for I loved your mother. And I knew how much she wished for you to have been mine. She mourned for him. You were too young to see it but I watched as your mother stared out of the window, waiting for _him. _It hurt me of course but we both knew in the last few years how she had wished that she had chosen differently. I pretended! I pretended like I did not see the golden flecks in your eyes and the dark wavy hair that your mother brushed every morning.

But I knew, Elise.

It was not just his eyes that you inherited – you would sob as a child until you heard the soothing keys of a piano. Until your mother would in the middle of night caress you and sing you a tune (did you ever wonder why you were called Elise? A clue - you never fell asleep until one specific composition was played on the piano.) At two, you had learnt how to play the piano by yourself and had built a tower of books for you to be able to reach the seat! I had walked in and you were there, standing on the small seat by the piano playing_ Mozart_. By three, you had written your very first composition and had become interested in all of the instruments you could have your little fingers on! Oh by five you had mastered the violin and the flute. I had tried to deny it, Elise. I had tried to tell myself that I was merely hallucinating this.

But I had never seen any child as gifted as you. Last week, you had told me you aspired to be a classical pianist and I hope you have achieved your dream! For you have worked so hard even at this age. Do you remember when your mother first became poorly and I took everyone to the seaside? I had watched as your brothers built sandcastles in the damp sand while you with a thin tree branch, drew musical bars and began to hum as you traced musical notes in the sand. Your mother had laughed but I saw the pain in her eyes. I had laughed too. My funny, little Elise I had called you.

However I saw it in the way you regarded music. How his genetic talent has passed on to you. And I was so glad for I saw how it made you happy! And how it had made your mother happy to have music in her life again. Your father, Elise was not a good man in my eyes and he shall never be for what he did. But I now believe that he loved your mother almost as much as I had. He loved your mother enough to release her. And I am certain he would have loved you. For how could anyone not? You always had the brightest smile and the most gleeful of moods even now as you endure the pain of grief.

I know that your mother till her death loved your father, Elise. Do not think badly of her for she loved me too. But out of all – she loved you more. She loved you and your brothers more. I had tried to find him, to ask if he should attend your mother's funeral but had not been successful. Elise, I wished I could have told you this sooner – before your mother's death for perhaps she could tell you more about this. But I never asked her as I knew the strife it caused us both to even breathe it out. In the years, because of this silence we grew apart but my love shall never die for her.

Because she lives in you, Richard and Louis. As a mother, she was the best for you and I know she would have loved to have seen you flourish as a young woman. You may be asking if I was bitter? If I was bitter that your mother had taken to another man while I had been away. My answer to that is yes. Of course I had been broken by what had been revealed to me but Elise, I was given a daughter in return. Although you may not have been a product of my and your mother's love – you had been loved all the same. And I vowed, the moment I held you in my arms that you shall be my daughter and I shall treat you no differently to any of the other children I may have.

And as I watch you now, still young and naïve – I know I shall keep that promise. Please, my love forgive me for not giving you this letter sooner. I send this to you now as I am on my deathbed. I decided to write this early for I wanted to make sure that I could let you know how special you are to me. How special you are to your mother and I even though she is lost now.

I know you may be angry and you may demand for answers – but please, understand Elise that we kept it from you for a reason. Your mother wanted you to grow up with the love you needed and wanted. We wanted to raise you with the innocence and joy that children should be raised with. Remember that we chose everything we had chosen for your own good, Elise.

For you.

I hope it is years yet before you read this. And I hope you read it by my bedside. But I hope more than anything that I have raised you as I had wanted to – as joyfully and as lovingly as your mother and your… father would have liked.

You are currently playing the piano, Richard on your lap and you are waiting for me to be an audience to your new composition.

Thank you, my love for all the joy you have given me.

_Papa_

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><p>ooc; I don't really know why I wrote this. I just had this odd feeling that I should, XD. I feel like I should have a letter from Christine to Erik telling him about Elise, even though I'm unsure if he's dead or not. But anyway, so yes - I hope you enjoyed this. I just got depressed, really.<p> 


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